TROUBLE WITH A CAPITAL T

One week ago, Thing 1 came home with a little surprise for us.

And I said, "No.  Absolutely not."

Then a little while later, I said, "Okay but only for a couple of days.  This is not going to be permanent!"

I was so, so wrong.

We've got Trouble with a Capital T.

Meet Trouble, aka "Stinkerbelle" aka "Nala":

She's a 4 month old Something mix.  Rumor has it that mix is Chihuahua/Lab although we're all pretty skeptical on the Lab part of the mix.  Thing 1 says her litter mates were all much, much larger so maybe.

I'm not saying she's tiny but take here's a good comparison:

She was Thing 1's girlfriend's puppy but Girlfriend just moved to a new place and can't have pets so without asking permission from me, Thing 1 volunteered to take custody.

Again, without asking permission from me.  And I was adamant that I did not want another dog to take care of, especially a puppy.  I haven't had to deal with a puppy in YEARS!

Sadly, within just a few hours, I was smitten:

TheManTheMyth was smitten. 

And obviously, the BabyDaddy is smitten:

Thing 2 is, well, not QUITE as enamored but she does unbend slightly now and then:

Just look at those ears! 

Gracie Lou, however, is the lone holdout:

"Why dis stoopid puppee here?  Why it in my bed?  Why it eat my food?  Why it always want to wressel?"  Why it not leave me alone?  I hate you all.  I stick tung out at you!"

Here's some things to know about this here puppy:

1.  She's housebroken.  I KNOW!!!  She figured out the dog door within minutes and goes out on the grass and does her business and then comes running back in.  She has not had a single accident in the house.  Gracie Lou, on the other hand, crapped on the floor next to MY side of the bed the other night as a "Fuck You" and guess who unknowingly stepped in it and then got into bed?  That was fun.

2.  She's an Eager Eater.  She wolfs down her food and the marches over to Gracie Lou's bowl and tries to horn in on the action.  She practically does cartwheels with excitement when it's feeding time.

3.  She loves her toys.  Plays with them, all of them, throughout the day.  When I put her toys away, she immediately goes and drags them all out again.

4.  She has yet to destroy anything.  Yet.  I'm trying to be very vigilant about not keeping anything within reach that I don't want chewed up and when she DOES find something, I take it away immediately and give her one of her toys in exchange.  So far, so good.

5.  She loves Thing 1 best.  He is, after all, Daddy.  And she sleeps with him.

6. She's a better running partner than Gracie Lou.

7.  She's smart.  The 2nd time I took her for a walk around the block, she exactly which house was ours/hers and marched right up the steps.  When I tell her, "NO!"  she immediately stops and sits.  She knows "Stay."  And she's incredibly laid-back for a pocket dog.

8.  She doesn't like bicycles.

9.  She loves to snuggle.

10.  She loves to annoy Gracie Lou but also knows when not to push her luck and acknowledges Gracie Lou's Seniority in the household.

I didn't want another dog.  I was ADAMANT about not having another dog.

Uh huh, yeah.

IT'S A LONG WAY TO THE TOP

No, you are not hallucinating.  It's an honest-to-goodness new blog post, the first one since July.

I have no reasons or excuses for not blogging other than I just couldn't seem to have anything to say or write about.

As that great philosopher, Steve Martin, once said, "Some people have a way with words.  Others not have way."

Anyway.  

Now I have way.

And a story about how it's a long way to the top and how I made it there.

So gather 'round, children.

This is the story.

About a month or so ago, my sister asked if I wanted to do the Palm Springs Tram Road Challenge, a 6K event that goes up the, wait for it, Tram Road in Palm Springs.

Sure, I said.  She offered to sponsor me but I HAD to commit.

No problem, I said.
  So last weekend we made the 2 hour drive to Palm Springs.  After a good carb-load up for dinner, it was off to bed.  Where I tossed and turned all night long.

After getting up at the buttcrack of dawn and scarfing down half of a bagel (carbs), a yogurt (protein) and half a banana (potassium), we headed to the Tram Road to take the Challenge.

As we're walking across Hwy 111, a race official or someone tells us Good Luck and that the first 2.5 miles aren't bad but the last 1.7 will be hell.  Yeah, yeah, I think to myself,  *I'VE done a 5K and hiked to the top of the summit at Lake Tahoe.  I walk my dog in El Dorado Park every day.  I can do this easy pie!"  Despite numerous warnings from People Who Know These Things, I think to myself that it won't be THAT bad.

Oh, what fools these mortals be.

Pre-race pictures are a must:

Look at me, all happy and clueless with my friend Sandy. 

So Lisa, Sandy and Gaga go toward the front the pack for the start because they're running while my sister Bippy and I are a little further back.  Because we're Not Running.  The National Anthem is played and then 30 seconds later, we're off.  25 feet later, someone body slams me to the ground from behind and gives me a flat tire on my shoe.  And I'm all "Dude, what the hell?"  No idea who it was and nary an apology or even a "Sorry" pat on the back.  So I have to fight my way through the crowd and limp over to the side of the road so I can get my shoe back on and I see Bippy up ahead looking around like, "Where did she go?  She quit already?" (I wish) I get my shoe back on and then I started jogging so I could catch up with Bippy.  That was a mistake because it used up valuable energy.

The first 2 miles were not easy but if kept at a steady pace, it wasn't too bad. 

And then we hit Mile 2.5-ish and shit got real.  

My pace got slower and slower as my legs started turning to cooked spaghetti. I didn't feel winded (much) and my heart wasn't pounding (much) but my legs, especially my quads, were starting to put up a fight.  Bippy and I had already agreed that if one of us (that would be me) fell behind, to keep going and not get dragged down by the dead weight (that would be me).  I had to stop several times for about 30 seconds each to let my legs stop shaking and quivering and there were more than a few times I thought to myself, "I can't do this any more" but then I would tell myself, "Bippy will KICK. YOUR. ASS if you quit" so I kept plugging along.

I passed the 3 mile mark and knew it was only .7 miles to go but that .7 miles would make me its bitch.  I'm not saying I was going slow or anything but an 89 (EIGHTY NINE!!!) year old man with a recent hip replacement and using a cane passed me and left me in the dust.  While flashing me the "LOSER!" sign.  

I can see the finish, which is at the top of a STEEP hill and I am dying.  DYING.  I had visions of that woman triathlete who crossed the finish line on her hands and knees while puking and thought, "That is going to be me.  I will have to crawl across the finish line looking all pathetic" although I never had the urge to puke or faint.  Although I DID pass one lady who was puking at the side of the road.  So, yay me.  I think.

I'm barely shuffling along, trying not to collapse and then I hear, "There she is!" and there was my friend Lisa and another lady coming to get me to the finish. It's barely a 1/4 mile to the finish and I had to stop several times until my legs stopped shaking.  I climb to the finish and I really don't remember much about it.  The only thought I had was SIT DOWN AND DON'T MOVE.  Which is what I did.

I'd been sitting there for, oh, 3 minutes when Sandy, my friend Sandy, says, "Okay, let's head back down!" and everyone was all, "Sandy, Kelly CAN'T WALK.  We have to wait a bit.  You wouldn't want to just leave her here, would you?"

To which Sandy, my GOOD FRIEND Sandy, says, "Sure I would!"  Because Sandy's a Giver like that.

Luckily, the shuttle buses were ready to load passengers and we all climbed aboard and I wasn't left behind.   

I had estimated that it would take me 1.5 hours to finish and my time was 1:26:56.  

People asked me how I trained for the Tram Road Challenge and well, I, uh, DIDN'T.  And it showed.

When we were rehashing it later and saw our times, Bippy tells me, "Now for next year, you can set your goal for 1:15 and I'm thinking, "Yeah, no.  I think I can just consider this box checked."

And to add insult to injury, the winner of the Womens category was a 10 YEAR OLD GIRL.  Just kill me now.

When I finished the Seal Beach 5K, I was all, "Woo hoo!" and all happy and my adrenaline was high and I loved the experience.   Not so much with the Tram Road Challenge.  While I can be proud that I actually finished when a lot of people DNF'd, I definitely had my ass handed to me on a silver platter and that Tram Road said to me, "You've been schooled, bitch."  There's a reason it was called the Tram Road CHALLENGE.  Which should have been my first clue.

Special thanks to my sister Tracie aka "Bippy" for sponsoring my entry and keeping me more afraid to quit than dying, my friend Lisa Deaton aka "Miss Lisa" for pacing me that last 1/4 mile and of course, Del Taco for getting me to where I am today. 

Now, it's time to start training for the Surf City (Half) Marathon in February!  

It's MADNESS, I tell you!

AMUSE YOURSELF WHILE AMAZING YOUR FRIENDS

I had all sorts of things planned for today.  

I was going to pay bills.

I was going to do laundry.

I was going to buy a shipping box to send back a pair of shoes I had ordered that turned out to feel as if they were sewn with barbed wire.

I was going to go grocery shopping.  

I was going to, once again, attempt to put my office in a semblance of order.

Have I done any of these things?

That would be No.

Do you want to know what I HAVE accomplished today?

Prepare to be amazed.

Or perhaps stupefied.

I MICROWAVED A BAR OF IVORY SOAP!!!

I KNOW!! 

One day, while perusing Pinterest, which is something that can keep me occupied for HOURS, I saw a pin about what happens when you microwave a bar of Ivory Soap and I said to myself, "Well, why the hell WOULDN'T you microwave a bar of Ivory Soap?"


So a couple of weeks ago, I purchased said bar of Ivory Soap and stuck it in my laundry cabinet and promptly forgot about it.


Until today.


I don't know what reminded me but I said to Thing 2, "Hey, you wanna see what happens when you microwave a bar of Ivory Soap?"


And Thing 2, being quite the Adventurous Type, said, "Sure, why not?"


So we unwrapped the bar of Ivory Soap (no, I am not being paid for each time I use the words, "Ivory Soap" in this post), popped it in the oven and set it for 4 minutes.


And then we stood in front of the door and absorbed some radiation while staring through the window-thingy and waited to be amazed and/or stupefied.


AND BOY WERE WE!!!


Check it out:

 It was like this fluffy cloud of...stuff.  It was light and airy and when you attempted to pick it up, it just kind of crumbled and got EVERYWHERE!!!


So what I did was just crumble it all up and then scooped it all into a jar.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it, perhaps use it to make another batch of my homemade laundry soap, perhaps stick it out in the boys bathroom so they can wash their hands, who knows.

Microwaving soap for shits and giggles.  

Do I know how to have a good time or what?

BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I've been kind of missing in action but every time I'd sit down to write a post, I'd just SIT there and stare at the screen or I'd start to write SOMETHING and then my train of thought would pull out of the station and I'd be all, "I'm trying to think but nothing's happening!" and I kind of also got a little "why bother when I've got 3 readers and no comments" and aren't *I* feeling sorry for myself?

I've also been rather busy doing stuff.

What kind of stuff?

Different stuff.

I transformed my old fountain into a swell planter.

Before:

After:

And because I have a brown thumb when it comes to gardening, I've already killed the geraniums although the impatiens are still clinging to life.  Watering helps, I've found.

Let's see, what else.  I worked an Aid Station at the San Diego 100 Mile Endurance Run:

Which was crazy, let me tell you.
 
I've been selling my library of books and making a couple of bucks.  And weeping when I thought about the HUNDREDS of books I've given away over the last few years.


Which leads me to the title of this post.


Have you ever discovered an author and thought that they were the absolute shizz?  


You read their blog and follow them on Twitter and Facebook and then with each subsequent book, all but one of them memoirs, you start liking them a little bit less and less and then one day you realize that the smell is off the rose and that not only are they NOT all that funny, they're not someone you'd even want to be friends with in real life and you have absolutely NOTHING in common with them and everything they write lately just ANNOYS the ever-loving CRAP out of you and you really get the urge to SMACK them and that is when you realize that It's Over.


Oh, and SPEAKING of Breaking Up, who here is shocked and/or surprised that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are getting a divorce? 


Anyone?


Anyone?


Yeah, didn't think so.

PAWING THROUGH DEAD PEOPLES STUFF

So this morning I needed to go to the gas station and as I was leaving said gas station, I saw a sign that read, "Estate Sale" and I knew I had to follow the signs.


Now I'm a sucker for estate sales for the following reasons:


1.  You can find some swell stuff.


b.  You can find some swell stuff for low, low prices.  And some not-so-swell stuff at "Who are you trying to kid here?" prices.


iii.  It gives you a chance to be nosy paw through someone's stuff and nobody will say, "Hey!  What the hell do you think you're doing in here?"


So of course I must check it out and when I got there, it was apparent that as the sale actually started yesterday, the majority of good stuff had already been snatched up but I took a look anyway.


I wandered from room to room, picking up this, looking at that but not really seeing anything that I absolutely HAD to have.


Until I got into a back bedroom and hanging there in front of me were not one but TWO beautiful satin wedding dresses.


Oh, these were beautiful dresses, one from the 1930s and the other from the 1940s.  Both had cathedral length trains and both still had the headpieces and cathedral length veils as well as the satin shoes.  The satin had yellowed to a gorgeous creamy color and the lace and embroidery were still perfect.  Someone had spent A LOT of money on these wedding dresses.

I wanted these dresses SO BAD, even though I need them like a hole in the head, have no use for them and didn't have the money to buy them anyway but still.  I wanted them.  Sue me.

And then I got sad.  Like the time I went to an estate sale and one of the items was the wedding album of the dead lady. For some reason, that saddened me more than anything else that was in that house.  Someone had lived their life and now strangers were pawing through their personal belongings, hoping to score some good stuff for cheap prices.  

Anyway, I wondered about those wedding dresses.  Why were there two of them from roughly the same era?  Did the lady of the house marry twice in a relatively short time, both times in formal ceremonies?  What was their story?

I finally had to tear myself away from those beautiful dresses and headed toward the door empty handed.

Then I saw a pretty teacup and saucer and something made me grab it, I don't know what or why but I had to have that cup and saucer:

And as I went to pay for them out in the garage, I spied a mirror laying on a workbench and grabbed that as well:

I need a mirror for my entry way and this will be perfect after I've painted the frame.  Sucker weighs a ton, though.

So that was my day today.  Pawing through Dead Peoples Stuff for Fun and Profit.

And feeling sad and guilty about it.

 

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

SELLING MY CHILDREN TO THE GYPSIES

Not that I haven't considered it a time or two.

Actually, I'm not talking about my offspring, Things 1 and 2. 


Only because I don't think I can get any money for those two.  Goats, possibly.  Money, no.

Because who wants to pay good money for surly teens with expensive hobbies?

*I* certainly don't.  So, I'm stuck with them.

Anyhoo, the children I'm talking about are my books.  My babies.  My raison d'etre.

I never, EVER thought I'd say this but I have too many books and it's time to let them go to new homes.  

I KNOW!!!!

Anyone who knows me knows that is a shocking statement.  And at this point, you're thinking one of the following reasons for that shocking statement:


1.  She's dying.


b.  She's getting divorced and moving to a tiny hovel without any room for books.


iii.  She violated one or more of the multiple restraining orders that various hockey players have taken out on her and will be exiled to some Godforsaken hellhole that doesn't have a hockey team to stalk as punishment and she can't take any books with her.


If you guessed "iii" you'd be correct.


Oh, I'm kidding.  The correct answer is "Diabetes.  John has Diabetes."

Seriously, I laugh every time I see that poster.  The Bucket to Hell has room for one more and I'm climbing in.

While Answer iii is totally viable, not to mention probable, it is still not the correct answer.


The real reason is I need to clear out my office and the bookcase in my office is one of the things that needs to go:

For starters, it's ugly and I can say that because I didn't pay any money for it.  It was someone else's discard and came with my massive desk I hate so much.  That will be shitcanned as well, as soon as I convince TheManTheMyth to build me the desk I want, which is very similar to this one in Pottery Barn although I believe we can do it for much, MUCH less.  Basically, I want a countertop desk over 2 file cabinets.  One of which needs to be a lateral file cabinet.


But back to my books.


I have two other bookcases as well, one in my entry:

and one in my living room:

Please note my Nancy Drew collection.  Those aren't going anywhere.  And look, Mom!  There's the lamp you (and the rest of my family) hate so much!  That's not going anywhere, either.


But I have a diverse collection of books on various subjects and it's going to be hard deciding which to get rid of and which to keep. It's like Sophie's Choice in book form.


Or deciding which of my children to sell (or trade) to the Gypsies.


Decisions, decisions.